Once Dead
by LonelyAngel13
Summary: On October 1998, The Final Battle took place. Harry Potter was declared dead. Months later, the Wizarding Wold is in utter chaos and in need of a saviour. Did Harry Potter truly die? What happened on that faithful October night? Secrets, truths, and....
1. Alive

**Summary: **On October 1998, The Final Battle took place. Harry Potter was declared dead. Months later, the Wizarding World is in utter chaos and in need of a saviour. Did Harry Potter truly die? What happened on that faithful October night? Secrets, truths, and conspiracies will be revealed.

**Author's Notes:** My first fic... I'm freaking out, really... Anyways, rated just to be safe, for later chapters. May have SLASH later on, don't know yet, what do you think? If I do, I'll warn ya, but you'll be safely warned, so no flames 'kay? There is some blood and gore, but not too much, I think. Either way, please enjoy and review, but go easy on me, it's my first fic. Constructive criticism welcomed!

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, Harry Potter isn't mine. Don't sue, I'm poor.

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**Once Dead**

Part One

Alive

The rain had cleared away, leaving behind a vibrant sun that sparked life into the Earth. Happiness and hope floated in the breeze as the world celebrated the final end of the raging war. Tears of joy and hugs spiraled through the world, like a plague that seeped relief to the soul. Among the celebrations, there were also gatherings of grief. Although no one was completely sure of the events on that October night, two things were certain: Voldemort was dead and Harry Potter was pronounced missing. Missing, was what the Ministry announced publicly, but the Daily Prophet had already declared the Boy-Who-Lived, dead.

Only a group of people that all sat together in a shabby house named the Burrow still had hope. Through tears and screams they still refused to believe that Harry Potter, the one that had fought so hard to live, had died. And even though they all refused to say it aloud, deep in their hearts, they knew that it must be true.

Harry Potter was dead.

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-

Harry had intended to die. Harry had _hoped_ to die, after killing Voldemort, of course. What he had not expected was to wake up, in the middle of nowhere, soaked, sore, and bleeding from deep gashes across his abdomen. He moaned softly from the pain, his fingers reaching down tentatively to examine the vastness of his wound. He flinched slightly from his touch and wondered, astounded how it was even possible that he was alive. The gash extended from his right-side ribcage, to just below his bellybutton on his far left and it was rather deep, probably deep enough to have done some serious damage to his organs.

He tried to focus his blurred eyesight to his surroundings, but failed to see nothing more than darkness and the glowing stars up above. Harry could hear a soft roaring of what sounded a lot like a waterfall, but he could not be sure that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Slowly, he attempted to sit up, but the agony was too immense for him to support. He stared up blankly into the night sky, his mind slowly beginning to clear and memories gradually beginning to rise. He bit down on his lip, the pain in his heart and soul starting to overpower his physical pain. He wanted desperately to tear away the memories of his past from his head, but knew he could not. Right there, staring up at the night sky in the middle of nowhere, he truly contemplated on just letting himself bleed to death.

_Why not? I've served my purpose; there's no reason for me to live anymore now is there? There are no more lives running on every move I make. Why don't I just... give up? After all, death is but another great adventure... And I'll see Sirius..._

Harry closed his eyes, his mind set. He would not make any attempts to live. He would simply wait quietly for death. He coughed out a mouthful of blood, forcing him to turn slightly to his side and wither from the pain at the same time. Suddenly, he burst into a fit of laughter, triggering a coughing session to commence soon afterwards, which made him laugh even louder and cringe from the pain even more than ever. But Harry could not stop laughing. His laughs slowly morphed into deep, heartfelt sobs and tears dripped like pouring rain from that cold, tormented emerald gaze.

_If only the world could see their precious savior now! Taking his last breath and bawling like a child... After everything, all the murder attempts, all the duels, all the sacrifices, is this really how the famous Harry Potter is going to die: Miserable, alone, and in terrible agony? How very fitting that Harry Potter should die just like he's lived!_

Harry smiled through his sobs. Perhaps it was for the best for him to die. He just wondered why it was taking so long. His mind was suddenly clouded by a thick, white fog and he felt as if his world was spinning. He faintly wondered if he was dead yet. No sooner than the thought entered his mind, he heard a soft voice by his ear. The voice he instantly recognized as his mother's.

_It's not your time yet Harry,_ she whispered, making him frown.

_Not my time? _He repeated hollowly.

_No love, not your time _she repeated, her voice becoming clearer.

_But I want to die. I _need_ to die._ Harry said, his tone getting frantic.

_Oh love, how can you die when you haven't lived? _Her voice cracked slightly.

Harry could not find what to say.

_Listen to me love, there's still much you have not seen. You've only seen the evil and cruelty of the world. You believe that there is no good left in the world, but I assure you there is. Live, Harry. Live, if not for yourself, then for those that can no longer bear to see you in pain. Happiness is not a fairy tail and you were not born to suffer alone. _

Her tone was becoming slightly rushed and shaky, but it still had the warmth Harry remembered.

Harry felt his heart ache in pain.

_I love you Harry, and so do James and Sirius. We want you to be happy. I know you wish to be with us Harry, but it is not your time. When it is, we will be waiting for you, Harry, s_he said softly, her words slowly drilling into his soul.

He could feel her voice slowly becoming fainter, _Until then, Harry... don't worry, we will always be with you... remember that. _

Harry wanted to yell after her, pleading her not to leave him, but he found that even with her voice gone, he did not feel alone. She was with him. With strength Harry did not know he could muster, he got himself to his knees, his fingernails digging into the wet mud, and managed to get himself up on his feet with the help of a nearby tree he had not noticed until his fingers had brushed up against the rough trunk. Somehow, he managed to begin to walk. He stumbled and fell a few times, but he still managed to keep going, even though he had no idea where in Merlin's name he was.

After a moment of passing blindly through thick-branched trees, he finally tripped over a tree root and fell painfully on his stomach. He let out a howl of pain and spat another mouthful of blood. Slowly, the world around him began to blur and he could feel consciousness slipping away once more. Just as he contemplated attempting to stand up again, he heard a familiar screech quickly approaching him. He did not need to look up to see who it was. Hedwig made a soft crunching sound as she landed softly on the moist earth next to him. He laughed quietly. Of course Hedwig had not abandoned him. She was the last thing he had left.

Hedwig gave him a gently nip on the shoulder, as if telling him to hold on. For a moment, there was only silence, but after a few second's time, he could hear far-off shouts and noises. Hedwig had called for help. He would live to see sunlight. These were his last thoughts as he slipped away into the darkness of his mind.

**--**

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**Author's Notes:** Hey you guys, I'm glad _someone's_ reading my fic, but PLEASE review. I need a boost in my self-esteem.


	2. Better off Dead

**Summary:** On October 1998, The Final Battle took place. Harry Potter was declared dead. Months later, the Wizarding World is in utter chaos and in need of a saviour. Did Harry Potter truly die? What happened on that faithful October night? Secrets, truths, and conspiracies will be revealed.

**Author's Notes: **Does anyone like my fic? Please, PLEASE, review. I'm still not sure if I want to continue writing this fic, but if someone actually likes it, I'll finish it. Remember, my first fic so no flames. Constructive criticism welcomed!

**Disclaimer:** No, as shocking as it may be, I am _not_ the owner of Harry Potter.

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Part Two

Better off Dead

"_So we meet again," said none other than the Devil himself. _

_I said nothing, the grip on my wand becoming increasingly painful. _

"_You have been quite a nuisance to me these past years."_

_I could feel my heartbeat in my ears. Was it fear? Or was it hate? _

"_Prepare for death, for now – we duel." He gave a small bow, his eyes never leaving mine. _

_I unclogged my throat and ignored the pounding ache that was my scar. "It is you that will die tonight, Tom," I said softly, returning a small bow._

_His eyes flashed in anger. "We shall see, Harry Potter."_

--

-

Small raindrops could be heard splashing softly against the brittle roof, forewarning the beginning of a thunderstorm. And old woman, sitting on a rocking chair in the shadows, turned to the only window in the small room and began muttering incomprehensibly under her breath. She was not happy it would rain. Slowly, she stood up and began placing small buckets on the floor, just beneath the cracks on the roof where rain would surely seep through. The small sounds of metal buckets clanking seemed to be enough to wake a figure that had apparently been under the covers of the only bed, sleeping.

The figure stirred, his green eyes blinking a number of times as he adjusted his eyesight to the room's dim light. He made a quick to attempt sit up, his hands hurriedly searching for his wand, (A reflex he'd picked up after years of war) but the overwhelming pain soon struck him and he fell back, letting out a soft groan from the pain. By now, the old woman was very much aware that he'd awaken and rushed to his side. Still unaware of his surroundings, he backed away from her, screaming out in pain.

"Calm down I'm not going to hurt you. Don't move too much now, you're very badly injured," she said, pushing him gently back into the bed.

But the young man flinched away from her, refusing to let his guard down. He spoke, his voice raspy and worn out, "Where am I?" he demanded, glaring at the woman.

The woman frowned, although deep in her heart she had to admit that cold, haunted look the young man's green eyes gave send icy fear through her very core. But when she spoke, nothing resembling fear could be heard in her tone. "You are in my home. I found you in the forest."

The young man said nothing as the words slowly began to register. He looked at the old woman carefully, until he was finally assured that she was telling the truth. He relaxed, leaning back against the worn pillow and taking a deep breath. Now that he wasn't alarmed of his safety, the pain seemed to increase tenfold. The old woman suddenly turned to a small table in the corner, bringing back a small vial of a green substance.

"Take this. It's for the pain," she said, offering it to the young man. He eyed it for a moment, contemplating, and finally deciding that if she had wanted to kill him, she would have done a very long time ago. He drank it one gulp, grimacing at the acidic taste as he gave it back to the old woman. In a few seconds, he could feel the potion rushing into his bloodstream and numbing the agonizing pain his body had.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked his voice softer as the pain left him.

"Three weeks," she answered, gazing at him.

He froze, his face paling, "_Three weeks_?" he repeated, dumbstruck.

She nodded.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but at that moment, he clutched his abdomen and began a loud coughing fit. A surge of blood poured from his mouth, staining the white sheets crimson. The old woman quickly pulled a blue small vial from her sweater's inner pocket and rushed next the young man.

"Take this, quick!" she said, offering him the small bottle.

But he did not respond. His eyes were wide in disbelief as he saw the puddle of blood rapidly beginning to be absorbed by the sheets. Seeing his stunned state, the old woman forced the bitter liquid down his throat. He managed to spit out some of the liquid, but most of it managed to go down. After a few moments, his coughs subsided and an uneasy silence settled over the room.

"What was that?" he asked softly, looking at the old woman.

She avoided his gaze. "Nothing to worry about, you should rest now."

But the young man's eyes were focused on the small bottle. It was a potion bottle. "Why do you have a potion bottle? Are you a witch? Why haven't I sensed you? What just happened? What's going on?" he shouted.

She said nothing.

"Why am I spitting blood? Answer me!"

She sighed, slowly lifting her gaze to his. "I wasn't going to tell you until your injuries had healed... but maybe it's best..."

The young man was beginning to get worried. "What are talking about?"

"Your injuries did a lot more damage than I had first thought..." she said, looking at anywhere but him.

He frowned, confused.

She finally looked at him. "Do you know what curse you were hit with?"

His eyes narrowed. "A dark one, I suppose. How do you –"

"Yes," she interrupted, "A very dark spell. It is called the Devil's Curse, for what it does is not short of horrifying."

The young man said nothing, so she continued.

"Basically, it... it... slowly attacks your organs, like a virus... giving the person nothing but agony, until... until..." she stopped, looking promptly at the floor.

The young man's face held no expression. "How long do I have?" he said simply.

"Well," she began nervously, "If you take this potion – newly invented – You can stay in a stable condition and – well there's really no way – you can still have –"

"How long?" he asked firmly.

"Two years, at the most," she muttered quietly.

There was a deep silence.

"Why did you save me then?" he said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

He looked at her, his glare cold. "What was the point in saving me? I was better off dead!"

She looked taken aback. "Well I thought –"

"You thought wrong!" he barked.

"There's no need to shout," said the woman.

He buried his face in his arms. "Leave."

"I still have to –"

"Please!"

She looked at him one last time before turning and closing the door softly behind her. She thought she heard a strangled cry being drown out by the sounds of echoing thunder, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

--

-

Harry couldn't take it anymore. Why had his mother told him that he still had much to live for? Why was he still here? He buried his face deep under the covers, in an attempt to hide the tears that streamed down his young features. Truly, he'd never contemplated suicide, but that was before, when he was sure he'd die. Now, he wasn't so sure it was a bad idea. He had nothing to live for and truthfully, he was tired of this life. This life of nothing but unbearable pain. Thunder echoed nearby and he looked up, watching as the rain droplets splashed against the window. Suddenly, he heard a soft hoot across the room and turned to a very familiar snowy owl.

"Hello Hedwig. Didn't see you there," he said as Hedwig flew towards him and landed at the foot of the bed.

She gazed at him, her amber eyes huge as she tried to tell him something. He looked down at Hedwig's feet and saw a newspaper which he immediately recognized the Daily Prophet; the moving pictures were hard to disregard.

"I thought they stopped making these after the Daily Prophet's main building was destroyed..." he muttered, reaching out for the paper, but freezing when he saw the headline, which was visible even from a long distance.

Quickly, he grabbed the newspaper and held it close, his eyes widening as he read on. Slowly, he closed his eyes and put the paper down, letting out a quiet sigh. He cursed and angrily threw the paper across the room, startling Hedwig. He lay back down and closed his eyes, unintentionally slipping into a deep sleep, his last thoughts being what in the world he would do now. As he slept on, the newspaper's headline laid clearly on the floor. It read: DRACO MALFOY CAUGHT; TRIAL SET IN THREE WEEKS FOR DEMENTORS KISS. Just below it there was a picture of a young, blonde, gaunt-looking man struggling against the five Aurors that restrained him.

That day, the rain would not stop.

--

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**Author's Notes:** Hello. See that button? Review :) You know you wanna. 

Bael: Thanks for reviewing. I'm not sure on the ship yet. Suggestions?


	3. A Chosen Path

**Summary: **On October 1998, The Final Battle took place. Harry Potter was declared dead. Months later, the Wizarding World is in utter chaos and in need of a saviour. Did Harry Potter truly die? What happened on that faithful October night? Secrets, truths, and conspiracies will be revealed.

**Author's Notes: **Sorry I took so long, but I couldn't upload for some reason. Plus no one seems that interested in this fic. So here ya go; another chapter. Mostly Harry's past, so you get to understand what's going on. Unbeta'd

**Disclaimer: **Harry is obviously not mine and if you didn't know, the lyrics are from Korn. It _isn't_ mine. It's theirs. Thank you and please review.

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Part Three

A Chosen Path

-

"_I have already made my decision, Professor. I will not be returning to Hogwarts this year." I stated flatly, looking into the eyes of a very unhappy Professor McGonagall. _

_Her eyes narrowed. "If you do recall Mr. Potter, I gave my word that you would become an Auror and for that, completion of all Hogwarts years is required."_

_I sighed. "Professor that was a long time ago. I doubt Umbridge gives a –"_

"_I gave my word, Mr. Potter. That is enough for me," she stated, her eyes blazing. _

_But I was not about to give in. "I will not have time for –"_

"_School!?" she cut me off sarcastically, "I'm sure you can find a place for it in your schedule, Mr. Potter."_

_What was I going to say? I can't go to Hogwarts because I'm going Horcrux hunting? Not likely._

_Her tone turned a bit more resigned. "Look Potter, you know very well that the school was threatened to close and even though it will remain open, I doubt many students will be very willing to return to Hogwarts after..."_

_She didn't need to finish her sentence for me to figure out what she meant. _

"_I don't see how that has anything to do with –" I began._

"_Potter, do you think that people will feel secure knowing that _the_ Harry Potter has also left Hogwarts?"_

_I frowned. "I would think so, since he's after me not them –"_

"_There has been much speculation since you were a child, Potter. Now, it is greater than ever. People see you as their saviour; their hope. You leaving Hogwarts will prove that it is not a safe environment for their children."_

_I said nothing. She was right._

_Suddenly it seemed, McGonagall pulled out a small square envelope and held it out for me. One look at the script in front of the envelope and I instantly recognized it. The letter was identical to the one that had been sent to me a year before by one Albus Dumbledore. _

"_Albus... asked me to give this to you the summer of your seventeenth birthday..." her voice faltered, as if the mere pronunciation of the Professor's name brought too many painful memories. At that moment, I felt as if time stopped. I watched as my trembling fingers slowly reached out to grasp the small envelope. And as if it was a delicate piece of glass, I held it, staring at the loopy letters for a long while. _

Harry James Potter

_That's all it said, written in gold. I could feel McGonagall's eyes on me as I carefully turned over the envelope and traced my finger over the Hogwarts seal. My heartbeat thumped harshly against my chest. Something inside told me that this small envelope would change everything. _

_It did. _

_--_

_-_

_**The pain... the horrible darkness... the crimson eyes full of hate... blood, so much blood...**_

--

A pair of green eyes snapped open in horror, unaware of the shrill screams that were coming from his mouth. The young man was drenched in sweat as he desperately gasped for breath. He flung his arms through the air, the unnatural sensation of falling leaking through him.

"Calm down! Just a nightmare, calm down!" shouted the old woman, desperately trying to soothe the young man.

It took him a few moments to process her words, but when he finally he did, he slowly sank back into the bed and closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears. A snowy owl suddenly landed at the foot of his bed, her amber eyes full of worry as she hooted softly at the young man. Nothing was said for a moment, until finally the young man spoke, his voice croaky.

"How long was I asleep for this time?"

The old woman, seeing that he was calm, handed him another pain potion. "Not long. I'd say about six hours."

The young man took the potion, still eyeing it warily, and drank it, frowning at the aftertaste. He handed the old woman the potion and fully rested on the bed, wincing slightly at the realization of his sore muscles. The old woman, looking pleased, turned and headed back to the small table. The young man lay still, staring at the frail ceiling, a look of deep concentration on his tired features. Abruptly it seemed, the old woman spoke, breaking the young man out of his train of thought.

"Will you be returning?"

The young man's eyes landed on the old woman. The old woman flinched at being under such a cold and fearless gaze, but her composure remained the same. He said nothing, but the puzzled look in his eyes spoke for himself.

"I meant, will you be returning back to them?" The way she said it, made a spark light up in the young man's eyes. She did not need to say more, for he understood exactly what she meant. A look of alertness and caution took over his look of confusion in a matter of seconds.

"How do you know? Who are you?" when he spoke, his voice harsh.

She sighed, sitting down in a nearby chair, here eyes focusing on the window. She frowned and it was very well a long time before she spoke. "My name is Edna Schauer and I know for a fact you are Harry Potter."

The young man narrowed his green gaze, but said nothing as the old woman continued.

"You cannot sense me because I am a Squib. And I know who you are for that very reason. We Squibs are very aware of what is happening in the Wizarding world. We are not ignorant," she said, her gaze still on the window.

There was a long moment of silence until it was broken by the young man named Harry Potter. "But that does not explain how it is possible that you can brew a potion. Magical powers are needed for something to be brewed."

Her tired features flickered for a moment with amusement. "Yes, that is correct. I am not completely useless. Although I cannot chant or produce a spell, I can make potions."

The young man said nothing. He'd looked into her eyes earlier and knew very well that she meant no harm to him. His cold gaze slowly vanished and was replaced with slight regret. "I think you deserve an apology for the way I acted earlier. It was completely uncalled for –"

She snapped her gaze back at him and raised her hand to silence him. "No need to apologize. I daresay you've had a confusing life where giving trust to the wrong person can very well lead to your demise. After all, I was aware of what was approaching and had already prepared myself for it, so no harm done." Harry Potter frowned in confusion and looked as if he wanted to say more, but the old woman promptly took his mind off the subject. "So, am I to believe you will be returning?" she asked.

The young man's fists clenched. "How am I supposed to return to a world that almost certainly thinks I am dead!? Never mind the fact that in less than two years I _will_ be dead! No I will not and shall not _ever_ return to the Wizarding world!!"

The old woman said nothing, her eyes somber. "Are you sure that that is something you want to do? I would have never thought of you to be a person to break a promise."

That was enough to leave Harry Potter speechless.

The old lady slowly stood up and made her way to the door, making sure to close it softly behind her. The young man closed his eyes, his nails now digging painfully into his palms. Deep in his heart he knew he had to do something he would regret. Deep inside himself he knew he had to return to the Wizarding world.

--

-

"_What are you doing here, Malfoy?" I said, narrowing my eyes at the unwanted visitor. Draco Malfoy stepped out from the shadows, looking gaunt and sweaty. This was not how I remembered the Great Draco Malfoy. Malfoy only stared at my wand, his own in his fist. Slowly, he raised his gaze to mine and I had to stop myself from showing emotion. Just the mere glance at his eyes brought torment into my soul, for they were almost identical to the ones I had taken away life from... But apart from that, something had changed in Draco Malfoy. His eyes were blank and they held something... they reminded me of someone..._

"_Have you forgotten the offer you gave me, Potter?" he sneered, although it did not come out as he intended; it looked more like a grimace. At his words though, my grip increased. _

"_What are you saying, Malfoy? How did you find me?" I barked, feeling foreboding in my veins. Malfoy slowly raised his free hand to show me a small life-like snake. I said nothing. What was there to say? If Malfoy came to by means of the snake, it meant that this was not a trick. Malfoy really did want to help the Order. But I could not stop the doubt that formed in my head. There was only one way to make sure. I turned to the snake, which was now squirming irritably. _

"_Did you bring Draco Malfoy to me?" I asked the small snake. _

_It turned to me, hissing angrily. "Was it not what you asked? To bring Draco Malfoy and _only_ Draco Malfoy to you if he was being truthful about where his loyalties lay?__" _

"_Yes I did, are you sure his loyalties lie with the Order? He is not lying?" he asked, glancing quickly at the expressionless Draco Malfoy. _

"_Of course I am! He would have never been able to use me as a Portkey if there was treachery afoot!" hissed the snake. My eyes landed back on Draco Malfoy. _

"_Thank you very much for your services." I said, shooting a spell to an alarmed Draco Malfoy, who jumped, shock-faced out of the spell's way. The spell hit the small snake and with a cloud of smoke, it vanished. Straightening up, I slightly lowered my wand. _

"_Now that you're done speaking to your little snake friend, mind we get to it!?" he snarled. I nodded slightly, but the surprise had still not left me. I did not offer Draco Malfoy a chance as a spy for the Order thinking that he would accept. I offered it only on Dumbledore's last letter's words. As a way to keep Draco Malfoy out of my conscience, lest Dumbledore was correct in his assumption._

"_So Malfoy, I agree this is unexpected, but since we both know what you're here for, I must ask, why has your mind suddenly changed? Last time we spoke, you refused to go against Voldemort in fear of him killing you and your family. What made you change your mind?"_

_He flinched at the name, but otherwise made no indication that he'd heard what I said. Nothing was said for a moment until, "First I need proof and assurance that my mother will be kept out of the Dark Lord's harm." _

_I knew that I was gambling the world's future in trusting Malfoy, but if it was a signed contract, it wasn't necessarily trust, now was it? I had known that protection for his family would be required and I was prepared to give it. Still, I felt uneasy at all of this. One wrong move and countless of lives would be lost. Looking into the blank gaze Draco Malfoy held I finally realized who he reminded me of. _

_He reminded me of me._

_Those eyes were the ones I held. They were the ones I had acquired the night I committed my first murder. They were the ones that still saw looking back at me, every night; cold and lifeless. Apart from holding the same sin mine held, they also were the eyes that had formed my sin. They were the eyes of Lucius Malfoy. _

_My first murder. _

--

-

Harry Potter wondered if he would ever be able to walk again. Although he no longer spat blood, thanks to his daily dosage of potion, his body still refused to cooperate and let him move about. He barely made it to the toilet _with_ the old woman's help without collapsing, nevertheless outside. He wasn't even sure if he wished to walk again. After all, death would soon come and it didn't really matter if he could walk or not. But at the thought of giving up, his stomach lurched as it always did when he thought that, and he found his eyes landing on the newspaper. The headline etched itself into every corner of his mind, making sure to shine bright even though his eyes had closed shut.

_Draco Malfoy caught; Trial set in three weeks for Dementor's Kiss_

Harry Potter buried his head in his arms, as if trying to block the image from his mind.

_TRIAL SET IN THREE WEEKS FOR DEMENTORS KISS_

His fists clenched.

_**TRIAL SET IN THREE WEEKS**_

He let out a strangled cry, tossing a pillow across the room.

"_... I would have never thought of you to be a person to break a promise." _

Harry snapped his eyes open when he heard a familiar hoot. Hedwig's amber eyes gazed at him from the foot of the bed. Slowly, his eyes traveled from Hedwig, to the floor where the newspaper lay in a crumpled heap. With trembling fingers, he leaned over the side of the bed, flinching in the process, and pulled the newspaper firmly in front of him. His eyes scanned the headlines, his heart beat pounding fiercely in his ears. _'Ministry Building Still in Tatters' 'Muggle Minister Missing' 'St. Mungo's Curing The Wounded In Hogwarts' 'Death Eaters Still Not Caught' 'Azkaban In Havoc' 'Mass Muggle Obliviation' 'Approaching Muggle War?' _

Harry was forced to close his eyes in order to tear his gaze away from the articles. It was clear that the defeat of Voldemort had not ended the Wizarding World's chaos. They were in great need of their saviour, but would he rise to the challenge?

Exhausted, Harry Potter made up his mind. The trial was set for one week from now. And he would most definitely be there.

His present problem was living long enough to do it.

-

-

_I slowly folded the letter back and slipped it into the envelope. There was a long moment of silence. "I will go," I began softly, "but only on a few conditions."_

_Her lips twitched slightly. She was not pleased. _

"_I would like to join the Order."_

_It took a few moments for the sentence to hit her. "Absolutely not –"_

_This time, it was I that cut her off. "I have been through just as much as any other Order member – maybe even more. I think I've had enough murder attempts to last me a while. We both know that Voldemort's out for my blood and being kept in the dark isn't going to help me in the slightest. All I'm asking for is to be informed."_

_She didn't look too happy about it, but after a moment she nodded, leaving me flabbergasted. I thought it would take a lot more convincing. "I don't think Molly will be pleased about this. I doubt most of the Order will be either." _

"_I would also like the privilege to leave Hogwarts grounds when I need to."_

"_Don't you think you are being a bit arrogant, Mr. Potter? Going out of Hogwarts... you might as well brand a target on your back!" she screeched skeptically. _

_I stood my ground. "It is necessary. Besides, Ron and Hermione will accompany me."_

"_Albus told me you would want this. He told me to allow it. But I still don't see a reason for three students- that are wanted by You-Know-Who; no less- should go about by themselves. Perhaps someone in the Order can accompany you or –"_

_I shook my head firmly. "No."_

_She was not happy. "We will discuss this later, Mr. Potter. For now I think it is time to inform you that you have been chosen to be Head Boy this year. Head Boy and Girl have their own rooms and I'm sure you now the rest of their duties."_

_I was taken aback. Head Boy had certainly not been on my mind and had thrown me off. _

"_Now Mr. Potter, I'm sure you've heard I will temporarily take place as Headmistress this year along with my Transfiguration duties, and I have yet to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I must be off now. I trust you will be on the school train on September the first?" she said, making to leave the room._

"_Yes, Professor." _

_And with that, the door closed and I was left alone, the small envelope clutched in my fist. I had managed to not lose composure in front of my professor, but now that I was alone, I was free to break. _

_And that's exactly what I did. _

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**A/N: I am seriously considering turning this into slash. But not very graphic slash. Yes? No? Comments? Constructive criticism? Review _please_.**


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